Regret
by Lyra Doyle
Summary: Shortly after Harry's return home in TOotP, he has a terrifying nightmare that leads him to a grim realization. This is rather dark. It is not slash. If you have not read TOotP all the way through at least once, please don't read this! It has major sp


This is the first Harry Potter fic I've finished/posted.  I would really hope that you already read the warning in the synopsis, but I shall repeat it:

DO NOT READ THIS STORY IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED HARRY POTTER AND THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX!!!!!!!!!!!  I don't want to get yelled at for spoiling anything.

Now that that's over with, I'd like to add that this is not slash.  At all.  Just in case you were hoping.

Also, see my author's note at the end.  I was very upset when I wrote this.  One final note, since some of my friends have had a problem with this in the past: I have not read another Potter fic in a very very long time, so I'm not copying or stealing yours.

Please R&R to tell me what you think.  My ego could use a slight boost every once in a while.

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Harry Potter loved his godfather Sirius Black very much, and he couldn't believe that Sirius had died.  He swore that he would make Bellatrix Lestrange suffer more than she had ever imagined possible.  She would experience more pain than even that which she inflicted on Neville Longbottom's parents.  He wouldn't stop until she had paid.

Harry thought all of this as he lay in bed in his room in the Dursley's house.  Before he had left the company of his friends from the Order of the Phoenix, he had promised that he would try to relax and not be angry.  They wanted him to grieve, most certainly, but they insisted that the intense rage they knew he must feel would only cause him further problems.

He didn't give a damn what kind of problems they thought he might have.  He was furious, and someone was going to pay for what had happened.  He stared at the ceiling.  He wanted to kill.  He couldn't stand to be trapped there in that room.  He wanted to get out and destroy everything he could find.

He fought with the anger, knowing that it was unhealthy for him and knowing that he needed to get to sleep.  He had a feeling, though, that he would not be able to sleep well again for a long time.  

Then, he had a thought.  There was an old belief that he was certain that wizards shared with the Muggles that the recently dead would be able to communicate with their loved ones in their sleep, to let them know that they were all right.  He knew that Sirius would do that for Harry if he was actually gone, and when his dreams that night were free of Sirius, he would know for sure and for certain that his godfather was not dead.  Even if Harry was the only one who believed it, it wouldn't matter because Harry's belief would be strong enough to help guide Sirius home.

This filled him with a new hope, and he struggled for a moment to relax his mind enough to sleep.  He had forgotten his anger in his excitement, and his plans for murdering Bellatrix were put on hold.  He allowed himself to slowly relax and succumb to the darkness of sleep.

He was inside the Black family mansion.  Kreacher was muttering miserably as he wandered through the door into the kitchen.  Harry looked around at the walls.  The house seemed brighter and cleaner than he had remembered.  The troll leg umbrella stand had been replaced with a newer brass one, and the shrieking portrait of Sirius' mother was gone.

The house elf heads were gone, too, and all of the walls were lined with photographs of people Harry knew: him, his friends, his parents, the members of the order, and Sirius' family.  _Family?  Sirius never had a family._  He stepped forward and took a closer look at the photo in question.  Waving back at him from a fairly recent picture were himself, Sirius, and a beautiful woman holding a small baby.  _Who are they?  But somehow he knew exactly who they were._

He continued into the kitchen.  It was bright and happy and obviously being put to good use.  More pictures lined the mantle.  There was one of Buckbeak, of several professors at Hogwarts, of the four inseparable boys when they were younger, and again of the woman and the baby that Harry didn't recognize.

He walked back through the door and headed upstairs, all the while noticing how much happier the house not only looked but felt.  More pictures were along the walls up the stairs, but he didn't stop to look at these.  Instead, he went into the bedroom that he and Ron shared when they stayed there.  It was unoccupied at the moment, but the furniture and bric-a-brac scattered through the room gave a decidedly lived-in feel.  Something was strange, though.  The things decorating the room seemed so very familiar to him, and when he took a closer look, he realized that everything was his.  His Firebolt leaned against the wall, Hedwig's cage sat open by the window, his trunk lay open at the foot of the bed, and pictures of his friends lined the bedside table.  He backed quickly out of the room, feeling a little nauseous.

The next bedroom was the one Fred and George had shared.  This one was decorated like a nursery, and there was a crib in the middle of the room with a beautiful, and obviously magical, mobile floating above it.  Harry peeked inside, and just as he'd expected, the baby from the photographs was sleeping on her stomach with a soft blanket draped across her.  Again, he stumbled from the room, with the strong desire to find a toilet.

The next room he entered was Ginny and Hermione's old room.  He knew exactly what would be in there, but he was still frightened.  His hand shook as it rested on the doorknob, but he felt that he had no other choice.  Maybe it wouldn't be…But when he opened the door, there they were, sleeping peacefully with their arms around each other, Sirius and his wife.

Harry gasped as suddenly the scene shifted.  The window suddenly glowed with the light of day.  The bed was empty, and Harry suddenly realized someone was behind him.  He spun to face whoever it was, and as he had expected, Sirius stood before him with a kind smile on his face.

"Hello, Harry," he said softly.

Harry's heart was filled with joy.  He had found Sirius!  Sirius was alive!  He had never even been gone.  He knew that now.  Everything in the house was there to show him that Sirius had gone on living a happy life.

Everything in the house was there to show him…

There to show him…

"No," Harry whispered.

"It's all right, Harry.  I'm all right."

"No.  You're not dead."

"Harry, let go.  Let go of those thoughts.  They'll only hurt you in the future."

"I don't care.  Until I have proof, I won't believe it."

"This is your proof."

"NO!"  He heard a baby cry next door.

"There's nothing you can do for me now except to promise me you'll fight him."

"I…I…I can't.  Not without you.  I need you with me, Sirius."

"I will be there, just like Lily and James.  We'll always be there to give you strength."

A tear streamed down Harry's cheek, followed by many more.  He hadn't cried in a long time.  Sirius smiled again and hugged Harry gently.  They stood like that for a few moments, Harry thinking all the while about how he had always known that this was exactly the life Sirius had wanted for them.  It was his fault that Sirius couldn't have it.

"Don't go thinking things like that, silly," Sirius said quietly into Harry's hair.  Harry could tell that he was crying now, too.  "I don't blame you, and I never will.  It was my choice.  I had to come and save you.  You're my only family left."

"I'm so sorry," Harry muttered through his sobbing.  "I'm so sorry, Sirius."

Then he heard a chuckle.  Was Sirius laughing at him?  _Well, that would be something he would try to do to make me feel better.  The chuckle grew into a laugh.  It wasn't a good laugh, though.  It wasn't Sirius' laugh._

Sirius held him tighter.  "No, Harry, I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry for leaving you."  The laughter continued.  Sirius pushed Harry away from him so that Harry could look him in the eye.  His expression wasn't just the warm regret that it had been now.  Instead it was a look of deep misery.  He opened his mouth to say something to Harry, but just then, Harry looked over Sirius' shoulder and saw someone move in the shadows.

It was Voldemort.  He had invaded Harry's quiet space and last few moments with Sirius.  The anger began to swell again.  Sirius' grip on Harry's shoulders tightened, and suddenly, Sirius' face contorted with pain.  Harry looked down at his godfather's chest and saw the point of a long-bladed knife sticking through.

Voldemort's laughter grew to a maniacal cackle as Sirius fell to the floor at Harry's feet.  Harry dropped to the floor, too, and cradled his dying friend in his arms.  He could hear Voldemort's footsteps as he approached, but he didn't care.  He couldn't stand to lose him here, too.

He couldn't lose him again.

He loved him too much.  Sirius was the closest thing he'd had to a father.  He couldn't let go.

Voldemort got closer and closer.

Harry could do nothing but let the tears stream down his face as Sirius lay dying in his arms.  Blood was spreading across his chest, and Harry felt it soaking into his own shirt.  He saw Sirius' lips move as if he was trying to say something.  Harry moved his ear closer to his mouth to try to hear him.  It was a faint whisper, but he could hear it well enough.  He was saying, "I'm so sorry, Harry, so sorry."  Then, with just a little more force, he added, "Now, wake up!"

Harry could feel himself slipping back into the real world.  "No!" he yelled over and over again as he drifted farther and farther away from Sirius.

Then he saw the ceiling in his room in the Dursley's house again.  Before he realized what he was doing, he was on his feet with his fist smashed through the wall by the bed.  Hedwig hooted madly from inside her cage and began fluttering around.

"Sorry," he muttered at her, but he wasn't really.  He was angry, angrier than he had been before he tried to get to sleep.  His hand was dripping blood on the floor.

Why had he seen this?  Why did he have to see Sirius die like that?  Was it his way of trying to get Harry to let go?  Because it wasn't working.  It made him feel even worse.  His scar prickled suddenly.  Then, it began to burn a steady burn, not too strong, but strong enough.

So it was Voldemort.  He must have been trying to fill Harry with even more hatred and fury by showing him what Sirius had always wanted and then murdering him once more.

He had shown Harry what Sirius would never get to have.

"It's not fair," he said out loud.  "Why does he have to be dead while I get to be here?"  He would never get to see Sirius again.

Not until he was dead.

For the first time, he realized that there would be no way he could survive the final battle against Voldemort.  He would kill the Dark Lord, yes, but there was no way he could live through it.

It wasn't a futile attempt to comfort himself.  He wasn't simply trying to tell himself that to see Sirius again, he would have to die.

It was a fact.  It was something he knew in his heart and his mind.  He knew that he would die.  He should have never assumed otherwise.

He sat back down in bed and felt strangely comforted.  He watched the blood trickle down his hand.

He knew that he would be with Sirius again as soon as he destroyed Voldemort.

He leaned back onto his pillows, with his hand on the blanket near his face.  He watched the blood soak into the blanket and leave a dark stain.  A grim smile spread across his face.

He watched the blood, and he knew.

But he didn't notice the blood that had begun to dry on his shirt.

Sirius' blood.

***********

Okay, tell me what you think...Sorry it was so long, but yes...As I said, I felt morose...Having not had the bestest dad in the world, I sometimes identify with Harry's need to have Sirius be his father...In other words, I wish Sirius was my daddy, AND I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THAT HE'S DEAD!!! THERE IS NO PROOF!!! HE COULD COME BACK IN THE NEXT BOOK!!!  
  
That's not a joke, either... :( My poor favorite character...*cries*


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